


Moving In

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds





	Moving In

Ray kinda tunes Turnbull out halfway through helping him move the chifforobe, because Turnbull starts explaining how interesting the etymology of the word is, it "being derived from 'wardrobe' and 'chiffonier,' Detective Vecchio. And of course a chiffonier is..." And furniture is _not_ interesting and etymology is not interesting, so when you put the two of them together you have two-thirds of a _trifecta_ of not interesting. So Ray lifts and shoves and wedges furniture where Turnbull points, but his mind has gone to his happy place, which is decorated with "things Ray is going to convince Fraser of later." They've already moved through the convincing of "Yeah, Fraser, I really do wanna kiss you. And lots of other stuff too," and the convincing of "Yeah, you moron, I really do want you to move in with me, would I have asked you to if I didn't?" Ray's hoping that pretty soon they can move into the convincing of "No, seriously, I'm not gonna break, Fraser, dial down the polite and amp up the pushy, okay?"

And then when they're done with the chiffonier and the sofa and Ray gives the ottoman one last shove and lets his brain turn back on, Turnbull is saying, "Naturally, due to RCMP appearance standards, I keep mine hidden," and taking off his serge, which is weird, and then his SHIRT, which is--Ray has missed something, here.

But then it's okay, because Turnbull's waving at Ray's biceps and saying, "Mine features more chiaroscuro than yours, but yours has a certain outsider-art forceful naivete," and oh, okay, they were comparing tattoos. Ray leans in and inspects Turnbull's.

"Huh," Ray says, and blinks.

**************************************

On the way back to his apartment he rifles desperately through the glove compartment until he comes up with a pencil stub to suck on, because being stripped down to jeans-and-tank and getting sweaty always takes him right back to summers in high school, when he worked for a moving company. Makes him crazy for the cigarette he had hanging out of his mouth every second he was awake, back then.

He lets himself in, balancing the last box of Fraser's stuff on one hip, and grins when he hears Fraser rattling around the kitchen. Probably doing dishes again. Ray's dishes practically _squeak_, these days.

"Hey, got the last things," he says, dropping the box on the counter. "Sorry that took so long. I got drafted into helping Turnbull move stuff from the Queen's bedroom into, I don't know, the Duke's bedroom, or something. Is there a Duke of Canada? And is a chiaroscuro a part of a beaver?"

Fraser give him his full-on, one-hundred-per-cent smile. Which used to be a lot rarer than it is these days. (Ray is a little smug about that.) And says, "No need to apologize; no; and what?"

Ray rolls the pencil around on his lower lip, says, "Chiaroscuro. Beaver. Why's Turnbull got a beaver tattoo anyway? He said he had other ones, but I was afraid to ask. Are they yaks or something?"

Ray figured Fraser would think it was funny, but weirdly, he stops smiling. "He showed you his tattoo?" he says. "I'm going to have to make it clearer that you and I are not merely roommates."

Ray has a moment of being totally baffled, because what the hell do those things have to _do_ with each other? And then he gets it, and--

"He was _flirting?_" Ray says. "_That_ was flirting? Man. He's gonna have to _work_ on that."

"No," Fraser says, in a strange tight voice, "he is _not_." And Ray didn't know you _could_ fold a dishtowel in thirds angrily, but apparently Fraser can.

Ray opens his mouth to say that Jesus, Fraser doesn't need to _worry_ about it. With anybody, but especially not with Turnbull. Because Fraser makes it seem weirdly hot that he is from some freakish other planet, but Turnbull is from another _dimension_. They don't have logic there. They maybe don't have _gravity_ there.

Ray looks at Fraser again, though, and has the good sense to shut his mouth. Because Fraser is _advancing_ on him.

Fraser gets right up in his space, up in his face even, and is breathing on him. But not touching him. Not saying anything. Just breathing.

Ray can't decide if this is hot or a little scary or both. He's got a hard-on and the chilly creeps up the back of his neck; his body can't figure it out either.

"Hey," he says. "Frase. I didn't do anything. I _wouldn't_, you know that, right?"

Fraser takes the pencil out of Ray's mouth, puts it on the counter, and just _jumps_ him. Takes that last inch of space between them away good and fast, thumps full-body into Ray and whams him up against the wall of the kitchen.

"No," Fraser says, and for a second Ray thinks he's arguing. Ray's all set to explain that he is a _pro_ at fidelity, he is really excellent at it, but Fraser presses into him even harder, nips at his ear and breathes, "No, you wouldn't," into it. He's unbuttoning Ray's shirt, not asking if it's okay, not asking if Ray minds if he goes for the belt. Going for the belt a little rough, even, and Jesus, _here_ is the pushy, Ray knew Fraser was hiding it away somewhere.

And then Fraser is _biting_ down his chest, and Ray's a little dizzy from only remembering to breathe every so often. Fraser's biting, and mumbling things between the bites, mostly "wouldn't" and "not" and "never" and "nobody." He shoves Ray's pants and boxers down to his ankles and Ray spreads his hands out on the wall, thinking _hi there pushy_ and _breathe, breathe_ and _don't fall over_.

Fraser's giving him really thorough coverage with the sucking and nibbling and biting, here. The nipples, yeah, Ray always had a thing for that, but there are all these places on his rib cage that Ray wouldn't have guessed were crosswired with his dick at all, but. Yes. They are. And Fraser's stopped talking but he keeps looking up at Ray between the bites and the sucks and the licks. He has this totally unfamiliar look on his face, he doesn't look like Fraser at all, he looks _greedy_.

Ray shivers, and Fraser bites down _hard_ on this one between-ribs place that hurts and tickles and is really fucking hot and makes Ray feel like he has a sparkler going off in his brain. Ray yelps and squirms, and Fraser grabs his hips, presses him against the wall harder, and then suddenly yanks both his hands away like they got _burned_. Looks up at Ray again but now he looks--panicked and _guilty_.

"Hey," Ray says. He grabs hold of Fraser's rigid shoulder. "Hey. Whatever you need, buddy."

He can feel the muscles relaxing under his hand. Fraser's eyes flutter closed, and he slides from his awkward crouch down to his knees. He digs his fingers into Ray's hips again, pins him against the wall hard, but his mouth goes gentle. He kisses softly across Ray's stomach, gently takes Ray's cock in his mouth.

Ray closes his eyes, too, lets his head fall back against the wall. Fraser's sucking so softly just at the tip of his cock, that teasing way he does that means it's gonna take _forever_ before Ray gets to come. But his hands are still pushy, still holding Ray hard and strong and right _there_. Ray isn't going anywhere, and sometime soon he is going to buy Turnbull a nice present, maybe a stuffed beaver.

 

\--END--


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